


be still my beating heart

by thesunwentdown



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Midsummer Night's Dream References, Pining, References to Shakespeare, Summer Romance, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, but it doesn't end there, mostly dnf but there is karlnap because., mutual (?) pining? we'll see?, the sleepy bois are a family, they're theatre kids! i did so much research for this!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:53:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29981076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesunwentdown/pseuds/thesunwentdown
Summary: “Yeah, I’m from around. It's weird I’ve never seen any of you before, it’s not such a big town,” George muses out loud.“You probably have,” Dream reasons, squatting down to pluck a bag of Doritos from the flap. “Just never noticed.”Would’ve noticed you, George thinks.- or, it's summer and they're spending it with each other and shakespeare
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Karl Jacobs/Sapnap, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Comments: 6
Kudos: 34





	1. i fall in love just a little ol' little bit

**Author's Note:**

> hiyaa! i wrote a thing, i hope you enjoy. unbeta'd, all mistakes are mine and mine only. lmk if you find any mistakes!
> 
> also, they're sort of aged down? i have the ages written down n all but they're all either younger than their current ages.
> 
> i wrote to [this playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5KwrGgxwTAjfTjtcBisNo5) so. if you want to give that a listen, just click on that!

**SCENE I.**

George values consistency. He always has.

His routine in the summer, which hasn’t changed since freshman year, is simple: wake up, get ready for the day, bring Karl and/or Quackity along with him as he performs his tasks for the day, then fall back into bed and do it all again the next day.

Karl dragging him to their local theatre in the name of his depleting bank account is not part of his routine.

Karl has his best intentions in mind, he always does. He and Quackity were planning on doing the community play this summer, he knew this, and he had been wholeheartedly supportive of them. _Yes, Quackity, of course, I’ll come and see the show,_ and _No, Karl, I will not hook up with the director to get you the main role._

Perfectly, completely supportive. 

Again, Karl only wants to help him and sure, he’s been eating cereal for nearly every meal of the day for the past couple of weeks. No big deal, really. Honey Nut Cheerios fuck.

He’s not listening when Karl is telling him about the pay and how this is the perfect job for him, instead opting to wander around the lobby of the theatre, flicking through the bulletin boards that line the walls. Most of the posters have recurring, and slightly unusual, names on them. Dream, Sapnap, Bad. George is inspecting a pamphlet about the summer director, a man named Wilbur Soot, when Karl comes up behind him.

“Oh, that’s Wilbur,” Karl says, resting his chin on George’s shoulder and reading the small text along with him. “He’s the one who told me about the play! He seems nice. A bit crazy, I think, but nice.”

George snorts, placing the pamphlet on the nearest table. “He’s British, it seems. Nice.”

“Yeah!” Karl exclaims. “One of your own.”

George rolls his eyes. “Alright. Well, do I have to apply or anything for the job? I don’t have any previous qualifications, but switches and flips can’t be too hard to learn.”

Karl nods. “Yeah, there’s a form right-” he reaches his arm backward, taking a packet from the top of a pile on the front desk- “here. Fill this out, slip it into the office, and we’re set!”

George sighs. “Okay. I don’t think I’m going to enjoy this, Karl. I’m not a theatre person.”

“Doesn’t matter. You like lights, don’t you? Besides, you’ll get to spend more time with me and Q now, which I _know_ you were really upset about-”

“ _So_ upset.”

“Exactly. Come on, fill out the form. It’ll be fun, I promise.”

George looks back down at the pages in front of him. Despite the packet being many, many pages long, the text is still quite small. 

“I’ll hold you to that.”

\--

He’s ready when Quackity comes knocking on his door a week later. He’s got his usual backpack, containing his laptop, a water bottle, and many snacks, along with his bluetooth speaker that Karl requested him to bring. 

“Georgie!” Quackity knocks, not waiting for an answer before he opens the door and saunters in. “You really should lock your doors, you know.”

“I do,” George responds, lacing up his sneakers. “Left it unlocked for you, duh.”

“Aw, you care!”

“Meh.”

Quackity smiles, dropping his own backpack at the door. He disappears into the kitchen, coming out a minute later with the last of George’s granola bars. 

“Of course, Quackity, feel free to take my last granola bar,” George says, picking up his backpack and standing. “It’s no problem at all.”

“Fuck off,” Quackity grins. They walk out, and George locks the door behind himself.

“We’ve got to pick Karl up too, hurry your ass up,” Quackity shouts at him from the front seat. 

“Coming,” George grumbles, shouldering the strap of his backpack. He slides into the passenger seat, immediately connecting his phone to Quackity’s bluetooth settings. 

“Hey!” Quackity whines, pulling out of the parking lot under George’s apartment. “Your music taste is shit.”

“Disagree,” George says. He presses shuffle play on his most recently listened to playlist, leaning back in his seat as the music plays softly from the car speakers. 

“So,” George starts. “Are you excited?”

Quackity beams at him. “Very. Karl and I have been talking about this for so long, and it’s perfect that the summer we finally decide to do it you go broke.”

“Rude, I’m not broke,” George interjects. 

“Sure.” Quackity continues, “Karl was telling me about the director, Wilbur? Apparently, he’s a bit, you know-” Quackity takes his finger and makes a circular motion to the side of his head - “but he’s supposed to be an amazing director. He does music shit too, so that’s bound to be cool, right?”

“Right."

“And I think it’ll be a cool way to meet new people.” Quackity turns onto the road where Karl’s apartment is located. “I’ve lived here for like, two years, and have only met two dumbasses worthy of my friendship. A shame, really.”

Quackity honks twice, and George winces. “You could just call him. Or knock on his door.”

Quackity shrugs. “This is easier. He’ll be out in a second.”

Sure enough, a beat later Karl rushes out of his house, a large duffle swinging at his side. George reaches back to open the door for him, and he tumbles awkwardly into the backseat.

“Morning, gentlemen,” he says, pulling the door closed with the toe of his shoe. “Time to get this show on the road!”

Quackity grins, pulling out of the parking lot. 

“What’s in the bag?” George asks. 

“Secret,” Karl says. He learns forward, craning his neck so the front half of his body is the same height as Quackity and George. “Did you bring the speaker?”

George nods, pulling the said speaker out from his backpack. “What’d you need it for?”

“Also a secret.” Karl leans back in his seat. “George, what shit music are you playing?”

Quackity cackles, bouncing up and down in his seat. George gasps, dramatically, then reaches his hand down to pull the lever at the side of his seat.

“What the fuck,” Karl says, leaning backward as to not be completely squashed by George’s declined seat. 

“You deserve this,” George says, placing his hands on the side of his head and kicking his feet up on the dash.

Quackity swats at his legs. “Feet off.”

“Prick.”

“ _Arse_ hole.”

“Oh fuck off-”

“Boys!” Karl interjects. “Ready your weapons, roll your drums. We’re here.”

“Roll your drums?” George asks as Quackity says, “Save the theatrics for the stage, Romeo.”

Karl scrunches his nose up, shaking his head. “Wrong play.”

George tilts his head slightly to the side. “Actually, what play are you guys doing?”

“Midsummer Night’s Dream, nimrod. We’ve been talking about it for weeks!”

George raises his eyebrows. He knows that one, surprisingly. It’s one of the only things that he remembers from his high school English class. He shrugs in response to Karl. “I don’t really listen to you two all that much.”

Karl swats him on the head. Quackity laughs, opening the car door and hopping out. Karl follows, lugging his duffel along with him.

They step inside the lobby of the theatre. Unlike the last time he was here, the place is filled with people. The front desk is occupied by a man in a light blue sweater, scrolling through his phone with his feet on top of the numerous papers that are scattered across the desk. He looks up as they enter, smiling widely and waving them over. 

The man kicks his feet off the desk, sending papers flying across the room. George picks one up, looking it over. It’s another form, again with unusually small print.

“Hey,” the man greets. “I’m Skeppy. Are you guys new?”

Karl steps forward, nodding. “Karl,” he holds his hand out. Skeppy shakes it enthusiastically. “Nice to meet you.”

“And you!” Skeppy says. He stands, coming around the desk. “Are y’all planning on auditioning?”

Karl gestures to himself and Quackity. “We are. George-” he points to George- “this is George. He’s doing tech stuff.”

“Cool, cool. Wait, let me grab two forms for you. One sec.” Skeppy disappears into the back office, behind the desk. George stands awkwardly next to Quackity. 

George spots another man approaching them, this one wearing a simple black t-shirt with an outline he can’t tell the color of and plain black jeans. 

“Is Skeppy grabbing forms for you guys?” he asks. 

Quackity nods. 

“Great. I’m Bad, it’s nice to meet you!”

This time, George reaches his hand out. Upon entering, Skeppy had intimidated him a little, but he figures he’s got to make some friends here and so far, Bad seems relatively safe. 

“George,” he introduces himself.

“Hello, George. Have you met anyone else here?”

George shakes his head. “We’ve only just arrived.”

“That’s okay,” Bad says. “Here, let me introduce you while these two fill out their forms.”

Bad leads him away, and George looks over his shoulder to send a reassuring look back to his friends. He’s okay, Bad seems nice, and he’ll have to meet these people eventually. 

Bad leads him over to a short boy, wearing a slightly weary shirt, and an older looking girl with light hair and a soft smile. 

“George, meet Tubbo and Niki. Tubbo and Niki, meet George. He’s new here.”

The boy - Tubbo - holds his hand out enthusiastically. George takes it, shaking it once and dropping their hands.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Niki says. “Are you auditioning today?”

George shakes his head. “Lights.”

Niki smiles. “That’s nice. You’ll meet Ranboo and Techno soon enough. Actually,” Niki’s eyes stray from him and pan around the room, “Ranboo is somewhere here. Tubbo, have you seen him?”

“I think he went to grab a snack or something,” Tubbo says.

Niki nods. “Right, well. Ranboo and Techno are also in tech. They’re great, you’ll get along nicely.”

George smiles awkwardly. Truthfully, he wasn’t nervous before he’d come here. He was prepared to hate it, but not for the slightly cramped lobby (given, it was pretty small), full of people who already knew each other milling around aimlessly. George looks back, seeing Karl and Quackity talking to a woman with curly, almost white hair. George sighs, turning back to his conversation, which has now divulged into the roles of the play. George could participate if he wanted, but he doesn’t, so he tunes them out and lets his eyes wander around the lobby. 

His eyes catch on two men leaning against the wall, talking animatedly. He’s too far to hear the conversation, so he assumes it’s about the play by the way one man, hair pulled back from his face with a white bandana, is clutching his script and waving his arms around. 

The other man- some color blond hair, he assumes, and yellow t-shirt embroidered with what he thinks are small smiley faces- is smiling, fingers tapping on the table next to him. George is faintly aware that he probably looks strange, staring, but he can’t turn his eyes away. 

Suddenly, the doors open, and the man turns away from his friend. He catches George’s eye, hint of a smile on his lips. 

George turns to the scene at the door. Three people, two men, and one boy. One man, with tied-up hair and glasses resting atop his nose, huffs at the dramatics and slides onto the nearest couch. Next to him, Tubbo waves at the younger boy excitedly, running up to him. The boy pulls Tubbo into his side for a hug, releasing him quickly and talking fast. 

“That’s Tommy,” Niki says. George blinks, startled; he had forgotten about her and Bad. “Tubbo’s best friend. I think he’s also doing tech stuff this year, actually, so you’ll get to know him a bit better.”

George looks at the boy, ruffled blond hair and enthusiastic nature. His hesitancy must show on his face because Bad laughs knowingly. “He’s not a bad kid, promise. He’s just, uh. What’s the word?" Bad snaps his fingers rapidly. 

“Exuberant?” Niki fills in. 

“Yeah, that.”

The last man, tall, wearing a long brown coat and whose hair essentially covering the top half of his face, is one that George recognizes. Wilbur Soot is walking towards them with a wide smile. 

Niki grins, walking past them to meet Wilbur first. They hug, and George turns to bad with a question on his lips. 

Bad shakes his head like he already knows what George is going to ask, and steps back to let Wilbur crowd into their space. 

“It is _good_ to be back!” he exclaims. “Bad, how are you?”

“As alright as ever,” Bad responds. “How’s New York treating Florida’s very own Wilbur Soot?”

“Fantastic,” the man gushes. He slides his guitar off his back, placing it on the table next to them, and he seems completely unaware of George’s presence. His accent, British, is jarring from his American look, complete with a sweater of the Clinton’s plastered on the front. “It’s so wonderful there I wish I could’ve taken you all with me and gotten you out of this crap town.”

“It’s not that bad,” Niki says. “We have each other. We get through.”

George steps back, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He’s here, in the middle of all these people who have known each other for years, who are best friends have formed bonds and connections, and he feels quite alone. Karl and Quackity are now talking to Smiley Face Shirt guy and his friend, and he stares hard onto their backs, willing them quietly to turn around. 

They don’t. 

George’s awkward shuffling has made Wilbur aware of his presence though, so he’s brought back into the conversation with a hand on his shoulder.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you before,” Wilbur says. _Yeah,_ George thinks. _I’ve gotten that a lot today_.

“George,” he introduces himself, for what it seems is the millionth time today. 

“Wilbur Soot, I’m the director. You’re doing lights?”

George nods. “Yeah.”

Wilbur grins. “Nice. Well, no need for me to get settled let’s get started!” his voice raises while saying the last part, and the room erupts in cheers. Wilbur starts into the theatre, the people around him following. Bad takes his arm lightly, guiding him to Karl and Quackity. George sighs appreciatively, and Bad pats him on the back, going past him into the theatre. 

He’s left with his friends in the emptied lobby. They’re grinning, and Karl’s face is alarmingly red.

“George!” Quackity launches himself at George. “Gogster. I think this is the best decision we’ve made in years.”

“Not saying much for you,” George says, prying Quackity off him. Quackity, unfettered, turns to Karl, motioning excitedly with his hands. “Tell him, Karl.”

Karl grins, wider than George has seen in weeks. “Nothing. Everyone here is just really cool, you know?”

Quackity groans in annoyance. “Karl has _met someone_.” Karl rolls his eyes, slapping his friend on the shoulder. “What was his name? Sapnap?”

Karl nods, his fingers tapping against each other excitedly. 

“Right, Sapnap,” Quackity continues, speaking quickly. “I wasn’t even paying attention to them and I could feel the tension radiating off of their conversation. I’m ready to play wingman, Karl, no need to worry. I’m sure Dream would be more than down-”

“Dream?” George interrupts.

“Yeah, the guy in the bright green shirt. You couldn’t have missed him.”

George rolls his eyes. “Yes, Quackity, you know how much I love the color green,” he deadpans.

Karl snorts. “His shirt had like, smileys all over it. Doesn’t matter, we’ll point him out once we go inside. Speaking of which, we should do that soon. I don’t want to make a bad impression.”

He follows his friends into the theatre. The seats are arranged in three sections, about ten chairs in one section, maybe twenty in the middle, and ten in the last. It’s a surprisingly big theatre, and the chairs, save for the walking path in the middle, seem to go on forever. Near the top of the theatre, near the tech box, he sees the man who came in with Wilbur and Tommy. He’s sitting alone, reading, and seemingly unaware of the chaos that’s happening some seats down.

The seats are barely occupied. Everyone is on the stage instead. Karl and Quackity leave his side instantly, jumping onto the stage and making a beeline for Smiley Face guy and his friend. Sapnap, Quackity had said? George thinks about following them but immediately shoots that idea down, instead walking over to Bad, who is talking to Tubbo and Tommy. He can cross that bridge, with Smiley Face man on the other side, when it comes. 

“George!” Bad calls to him. He raises a hand, walking over. 

“Hello,” George says when he’s reached them. Tommy and Tubbo are whispering, hushed, but they both look up at his arrival.

“Who are you?” Tommy demands. 

“George,” he says. He doesn’t reach a hand out; he’s not sure the kid will appreciate it.

“‘M Tommy,” the kid says. He looks about sixteen. Maybe younger, but definitely not older. “Are you from here?”

George startles, surprised by the question. Of course, he gets hounded by his accent the moment he speaks, most of the time, but it’s hearing Tommy talk more that he realizes that Tommy’s accent is also British, just as Wilbur’s was. Brothers, maybe?

“Uh, yeah,” he answers. “Born in Britain but moved here when I was twelve, I think.”

“How old are you?” Tommy asks. 

“Twenty,” he says. “And a half.”

Tommy scrunches his nose up. “Jeez, you’re old.”

George laughs. “Nah, you’re just a child.”

Tommy scoffs, turning back to Tubbo. Bad shrugs at him helplessly, but he has a small, affectionate smile on his face.

“Where did your friends get off to?” Bad asks him. 

George shrugs, pointing to where they’re sitting on the edge of the stage with a couple other people, legs dangling off the edge. 

“Oh, they’re with Skeppy too. Perfect, I wanted to talk to him about something.” Bad starts towards them, then stops, turning around and motioning for him to join. “Come on. Have you met Dream and Sapnap yet?”

“Not yet.”

Bad’s eyes light up. “You’ll love them. Everyone does.”

George follows him off stage. They cut through the side entrance, and despite the dark, George can make out several items covered by blankets and coated with dust. They walk back out, crossing through the seats until they make it to Karl and Quackity. 

Karl smiles brightly when he comes over to them, patting the space next to him. George hops up on the stage, situating himself next to his best friend. Karl hums a tune, leaning slightly on him. 

“George,” Bad says, motioning to the men in front of him. “Dream and Sapnap. Boom bam become best friends, I’m stealing Skeppy for a minute.”

Bad grabs Skeppy by the sleeve, dragging him off. The silence between them is awkward, despite the raging noise surrounding them. 

Quackity starts up a conversation again, dragging them back into a comfortable conversation. George doesn’t include himself in it, closing his eyes and shifting Karl off him to transfer their weight. He turns, leaning his back on Karl’s shoulder, and kicking his feet up on the stage. 

He’s not sure which is Sapnap and which is Dream, to be honest, but whoever’s next to him right now has a strangely comforting voice. He thinks it’s Dream, going off of Karl’s earlier description of his shirt, which is indeed embroidered with smiley faces, but he’s not sure. 

“So you’re doing tech stuff?” a voice, the nice one, says next to him.

George opens his eyes, turning his head to the side. 

“Yeah,” he responds. “Dream, right?” He recognizes the name now, along with Sapnap and Bad’s, from the pamphlet he had picked up the first time he was here.

The man nods. “Yeah. Are you into that stuff?”

“What stuff?”

“Tech stuff,” Dream says. He’s smiling, and it looks so natural on his face that George can’t imagine him _not_ smiling.

George shrugs, or tries to as best as he can still leaning against Karl. “I guess. I’m a computer science major, but I’ve never done anything like this.”

Dream nods understandingly. “That’s cool. I’m an English major, so this whole Shakespeare thing is kind of my shit.”

George huffs out a laugh, adjusting himself on Karl so he can look at Dream more clearly. 

He’s never really minded being colorblind. It was an inconvenience, sure, but it’s only really bothered him every once in a while. Mainly little things, like not being able to tell flowers apart in Minecraft. But now he finds that he’s frustrated, not being able to see the exact shade of Dream’s eyes. He can tell that they’re _bright_ , and that’s about it.

“George?”

George blinks rapidly, snapping himself out of his stupor. Karl shifts, leaning forward to show Sapnap something on his phone, and George’s head falls off his shoulder and straight onto the stage.

Quackity snorts, and George hears Dream bark out a short laugh before hopping up on the stage and holding a hand out to him. George takes it gingerly, reaching his other hand back to massage his head. 

“You okay?” Dream asks.

“Fucking dandy.” George kicks Karl in the side, hard enough to hurt but not bruise. Karl yelps, falling off the stage. 

George turns back to Dream, satisfied. Dream has an eyebrow raised, lips quirked up.

“Done?"

George nods.

“Good. Wilbur will start talking soon, so I was going to grab some snacks for us from the vending machine in the lobby. Come with?”

“Sure,” George says, and follows him out of the theatre. 

Dream walks confidently, his legs weaving around chairs like he’s done this his whole life. Which, for all George knows, he has. 

“Want anything in particular?” Dream asks him. The vending machine is right outside the theatre doors, and there’s a couch across from it that George plops himself down on. He eyes the choices the machine offers, then shrugs nonchalantly. 

“I’m good with anything.”

“Not very decisive?”

George rolls his eyes, swinging his legs up onto the couch and laying his head down. “Fine. Get me a Kit Kat then.”

“You’re welcome,” Dream says, turning back to the machine. 

George sighs, turning his face into the uncomfortable leather. 

“Are you alright?” Dream asks him.

“Fine,” George mumbles. He jumps up from the couch, walking up to the machine. Standing next to each other, he’s now distinctly aware of their height difference. It’s not that large, really, but it’s noticeable. George steps away from him once Dream hands him his snack, backing away to examine yet another bulletin board that’s placed above the couch.

His eyes wander, flicking from poster to poster until he recognizes a newly familiar face. 

“Hey, that’s you!”

Dream looks to where he's pointing over his shoulder, picks up the snack that had just fallen out of its slot, and walks over to him.

“Oh hey! Look at that,” Dream says, amused. “Skeppy should really take those down. It’s been two years now.”

It’s a casting poster for _Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?_ with only four names and characters up. Dream’s picture is under the name Nick. His smile in the picture is carefree, and George notes that he smiles like someone is making him laugh. Maybe someone had been.

“That was my first play,” Dream continues. “I was eighteen attempting to play a twenty-eight-year-old with a wife. It was so extremely hard, but it seems Wilbur always has a method behind his madness because it went pretty well.”

George hums, slowly pacing from the wall behind the vending machine to the wall beside the couch. “So you’re from around here?” George asks him. Dream hands him two bags of chips and steps back towards the vending machine to get another. 

“Born and bred. You?”

“Yeah, I’m from around. It's weird I’ve never seen any of you before, it’s not such a big town,” George muses out loud. 

“You probably have,” Dream reasons, squatting down to pluck a bag of Doritos from the flap. “Just never noticed.”

 _Would’ve noticed you_ , George thinks. 

“Head back inside?” Dream asks him, motioning towards the door.

George nods. “Yeah,” he says, then follows Dream back into the theatre. 

\--


	2. common sense falls second place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It’s a stupid thing. Because obviously, Dream is hot, and that's objective, and anyone with a working pair of eyes can see that, right? The thing is, though, that he’s been thinking about this objective fact ever since he met the man, and maybe that has something to do with how George enjoys his company a little more than he should. ___

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiyaa! second chapter, i hope you enjoy. unbeta'd, all mistakes are mine and mine only. lmk if you find any mistakes!!!!
> 
> i wrote to [this playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5KwrGgxwTAjfTjtcBisNo5) so give it a listen if u want :)

**SCENE II**

George realizes soon enough that he knows batshit about theatre.

Quackity has dragged him along to every single one of the cast meetups and though they don’t  _ always  _ talk about performing, they do talk about it quite a lot.

He also hadn’t realized how passionate Karl and Quackity were about theatre. They participate eagerly in the discourse, discussing different scripts and debating about plays and musicals. George is content to sit back and listen to them talk, maybe pull out his computer and screw around on Minecraft, but his friends are not. 

His friend group has expanded greatly over the past week and a half or so and now consists of the whole Midsummer’s Night Dream cast. Wilbur hasn't released the cast list yet, nor has he held auditions, but his friends are happy to ponder about their possible roles. George once tried to comment that, with all of the current “cast” combined, they were still a character short, but he was shot down immediately. 

(“No need for such negativity, George.” Wilbur kicked his feet up on the McDonald’s table, knocking a fry off the table. “Everything will work itself out.”)

A day after that interaction, George is sitting on his couch, reveling in the small moment of peace he’s been allowed, when his phone rings. 

George sighs, picking it up to look at the caller ID. 

It’s Dream. George smiles at the contact photo, a stupid picture of the man balancing atop a stage railing, taken a couple of days ago. He looks as carefree as he always does, laughing, probably at something Sapnap had said. Bad had taken the photo and sent it to their group chat. George saved it immediately.

He swipes his thumb across his screen, picking up the call. He puts Dream on speakerphone, walking into his kitchen. 

“George,” Dream greets. “Hi.”

George grins. “Hi.”

“What are you up to today?” Dream asks. George groans quietly; he’s heard that sentence enough times from Karl and Quackity before to know that his meticulously planned out peaceful day will not be followed through.

“What do you have in mind?” George asks. 

Dream laughs, the sound bouncing across his kitchen, against the cabinets, and straight into George’s  heart brain. 

“Did Sapnap ever tell you about that park we used to go down to? I forget what it’s called, but it’s got a lake. Freshwater and all that.”

“Dream…”

“And last time we went, which was just like, a couple of months ago, they had tied up one of those really thick ropes you can swing across, you know? It was awesome. Whaddya say? Up for a bit of a road trip?”

George leans against his counter. The pros obviously outweigh the cons, but he’s hesitant to say yes right away. The thought of being with Dream for hours on end, at a lake, possibly shirtless…

He might actually spontaneously combust on the spot.

“If you’re coming,” says Dream, “we’re starting in half an hour. Text Karl, he’ll come to pick you up.” And with that, the call cuts off.

George takes a breath, picking up his phone and thumbing through his favorites. 

“Heyo Gogs,” Karl picks up.

“Are you already on your way to Dream’s?”

“Yup.”

George pauses, curling his hand into a fist. He’s never really been the spontaneous type, but Dream-

“Pick me up?”

\--

Quackity is already at Dream and Sapnap’s apartment. He sees his friend’s car parked in the lot when he steps into the sun, which is glaring at him, annoyingly bright.

George makes to walk up to the building, but Karl stops him with a hand on his arm, and the other dialing a number. 

“Dream?” Karl says into the phone. A pause, then: “We’re in the parking lot.”

Murmuring on the other end.

“Yeah, George is here too.”

More muffled talking.

Karl grins. “Yeah, you would. See you in a minute.”

George tilts his head questioningly. “What was that?”

Karl shrugs innocently. “What was what?”

His response is cut off by Quackity launching himself into George’s arms, almost knocking him back into the asphalt.

“Alright, Q, jeez. No, I didn’t miss you, you called me an hour ago.”

Quackity steps away, picking away his disregarded bag that was thrown from his shoulder. “I’m excited. This is going to be so much fun, right? Why didn’t we do shit like this before?” He pauses, answers his own question with: “Oh right. Y’all are fucking  _ boring _ .”

Karl says something stupid in response, and George leaves them to their bickering, walking up to meet Sapnap at the edge of the sidewalk. 

“Hey man,” Sapnap greets. Atop his head is a large floppy hat, covering him from the sun. 

“Nice hat,” George deadpans, and Sapnap punches him on the shoulder, unlocking his car and throwing his bag into the trunk. George follows, then takes Karl and Quackity’s as well, stealing their bags from beside them while they bickered. 

“Dream’s coming down in a minute,” Sapnap says. George nods nonchalantly, kicking at the gravel.

It’s a stupid thing. Because obviously, Dream is hot, and that's objective, and anyone with a working pair of eyes can see that, right? The thing is, though, that he’s been thinking about this objective fact ever since he met the man, and maybe that has something to do with how George enjoys his company a little more than he  _ should _ . 

George has been in the practically constant presence of the two most outgoing people he knows for the past couple of years, and his own quiet nature hasn’t minded that at all. He’s comfortable in the background of his best friends, and it’s been that way ever since they met. 

Which is why it’s so  _ strange  _ for him to want Dream like does. Like he wants to spend more seconds with him than he does most people. When he thinks about it too hard, it feels like someone has dropped an anvil on his head and it’s passed through his body to settle in his stomach.

“Do you want shotgun?” Sapnap asks. George nods, sliding into the hot fabric and pulling himself out of his thoughts.

He misses the dramatic moment that Dream finally walks out the door. He was busy connecting his phone to the Bluetooth and then proceeded to semi-blast whatever song he was listening to last, then he had put his face on the dash, relishing in the heat that’s reflected onto the back of his head.

“Alright, George?”

George snaps his head back. Dream is grinning at him, amused. He had turned the volume down, and George could now hear Karl complaining about being squished in the middle of Sapnap and Quackity.

“Fine,” he mumbles. He busies himself with the air conditioning, turning the fan on high, then turning it off completely and rolling all the windows down.

“It’s a nice day,” Dream says conversationally, starting the car up. He backs out of the parking lot and starts towards the main road. 

“Yeah.”

Sapnap leans forward, starting up a conversation with Dream that George easily tunes out. 

In the hour and a half car drive, George reflects on three things. 

One, it’s a shame that Dream’s favorite color is green. George has grown more frustrated by the minute, not knowing the exact shade of his eyes, or what his skin looks like against his shirts - which are always,  _ always _ , green.

Two, whatever Karl had said about his crush on Sapnap being one-sided, it’s most definitely false. Turns out, tuning out conversations is difficult when you hear your best friend attempting to flirt (?) with one of your newest friends, whom you're already close with. It’s infuriating and for the majority of the car ride, George had half a mind to reach his arm back and smash their faces together. Truth be told, he’s not sure either of them would mind too much.

Three, he wants to be much more than friends with Dream.

The latter isn’t a shocking revelation if he’s being honest, but he’s surprised himself by admitting it. With Dream next to him in the car, shooting him smiles and nodding his head along to the music -- it’s no wonder Dream has everyone he knows hanging on to his every word.

George looks up from his sudoku puzzle when the car comes to a halt. His friends rush out of the car, Quackity pulling his door open before running after Karl, kicking up dirt along the subtly made path.

George sighs, pocketing his book and stepping out of the car. The sun’s heat hasn’t died down any less, but thankfully he sees a large tree near where Sapnap had dropped his bag. The shadows of the branches loom over the grass, separating their little group from the others that are scattered around the area. The place is surprisingly vacant, despite the sweltering heat. 

Dream is a few steps ahead of him, walking backward and studying George with an indiscernible look. 

Regardless of his less than startling revelation in the car, George refuses to act any different around Dream. They’re still friends; Dream is slowly integrating himself into George’s previously two-person inner circle. George has no problem with this. 

“What?” George demands. Dream slows down and falls into step beside George, matching his slow pace. 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Dream asks. “You seem a bit off. Maybe. I don’t know.”

“‘M alright,” George confirms. 

“You’d tell me if you weren’t?” Dream presses.

“I would tell you if I wasn’t,” George repeats. “I’m fine, Dream.” 

Dream’s face has morphed into his regular smile again, but his shoulders are still tense, so George diverts the topic to something more enjoyable. 

“Has Wilbur said anything about auditions?” George asks, biting back a smile when Dream’s face lights up at the mention of anything theatre. George steps into the shade of the tree, then slides down against it, resting his head against the cool bark. Dream collapses beside him, splaying himself on the grass. 

“Next week,” Dream responds. “Wilbur still hasn’t brought up the fact that we’re short a member, but,” Dream pauses, turning his head so his eyes lock with George’s, “I think I know what he’s got planned.”

“What is it?” George prompts. Dream shakes his head, turning away from George. Annoyed, but not really, George stretches his leg out, poking it into Dream’s ribs.

Dream shrieks, jolting his body away from George’s shoe. George cackles but brings his leg back to its previous criss-cross position. He turns to Dream again, another mundane question about the play on the tip of his tongue, but as soon as he opens his mouth, both his and Dream’s arms are being tugged harshly, forcing them out of the comfort of the tree’s shade and into the blazing sun once again. 

Karl and Quackity are grinning beside him, a hand from each of them still gripping each of George’s. Dream is not very quietly cussing out Sapnap, who's taken a similar stance to his two friends.

“Is this an intervention?” George asks, attempting to shake himself out of his friends’ holds. 

Quackity barks out a laugh. “Sort of. You’ve been very mopey lately, George, don’t think we haven’t noticed.”

“I’m not  _ mopey _ ,” George says defensively. 

“False!” Sapnap shouts. “Don’t worry, we’re going to throw you into the lake.”

“As a solution?” George implores, nose scrunching up in disgust. 

Karl nods sagely. “That’s right.”

“What do I have to do with this?” Dream asks, raising his free hand. 

“Um. Nothing?” Sapnap says. “But you and George are attached at the hip, essentially. One into the lake, then the other.”

George’s face heats up. He blames it on the goddamn sun.

“Get this over with,” George says, resigned. He knows that if he truly did not want to get dunked into a lake, and he told his friends so, they would let him go immediately. But it’s really fucking hot and the water looks deliciously cold a few feet away.

Dream shoots him a grin, releasing himself from Sapnap’s grip and diving into the lake head first. George stumbles as his friends push him forwards, and his feet just barely take control when he jumps the low ledge.

He was right -- he didn’t plan on fully submerging himself in the water today, but it would’ve happened eventually with the muggy heat. Karl and Quackity are at his side again, bouncing around him and talking excitedly. George chimes in here and there, in between repeatedly ducking his head under the water and shaking his hair out onto his friends. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees that Dream’s drenched shirt has been discarded at the base of the tree. 

George takes a deep breath and falls back under the water.

\--

Later, when they’re all dry and have exerted their restless energy, Dream brings up auditions again.

They’re under the tree, significantly far away from each other because of  _ body heat _ , but Karl’s head is on George’s leg, and Sapnap and Quackity are somewhat huddled together, looking at something on Sapnap’s phone.

The sun, finally, has cooled down a bit, though the air is still warm. The sun isn’t setting just yet, but it’s falling, slowly sinking to the horizon.

“Wilbur and I were discussing gender-neutral casting earlier,” Dream starts. Karl’s fingers stop bouncing on the dirt at the mention of auditions. George leans his head back on the tree and prepares to zone out.

“We talked about you some, too, George,” Dream continues. George blinks his eyes open, and Dream shrugs at him. “Dunno. You said you know the play, don’t you?”

Dream’s face is as hopeful and honest as it always is, and George’s, he thinks, is probably reverting to its normal state -- furrowed eyebrows, tired eyelids, and a slight frown.

“I mean, yeah,” George says. “But I’m not an actor. I’m a tech guy.”

“You could not be,” Dream presses. “You could try, at least. Wilbur thinks it’s a good idea.”

George can feel the tension rising to his chest, the tightness that wraps itself around his throat. It's not a big deal, really. He can say no, he  _ will  _ say no. This is not what he signed up for.

It’s quite hard to say no to Dream, though. He’s sure anyone would experience what he’s experiencing right now. Which is some sort of guilt, mixed with indecisiveness. Maybe a little longing, some yearning. The usual. 

“Well,” he says awkwardly. “If Wilbur says so…”

Dream beams at him, apparently taking that as a confirmation -- which it wasn’t. At all. George lets out a breath, letting his eyes droop shut again. 

What feels like just two minutes later, he’s awoken with a shake to his shoulder. George rubs at his eyes and shakes his leg out, which feels unusually weak. He turns his head and sees Dream, with a fond smile. The sun has gone down, and his friend’s face is illuminated only by the distant light of the moon. 

“Awake?” Dream asks him.

George nods, though he isn’t. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep but the comfort of his friends had lulled him into a light sleep.

Dream stands, holding a hand out. George takes it gratefully, letting Dream haul him into a standing position. Dream’s hand is light on his back, and George finds himself leaning against the taller man, letting him take the lead. He has a shirt on again, thankfully, and the air isn’t so warm anymore. Dream pushes him forward, step by step until they reach the car, where Dream then deposits him into the backseat with Karl and Quackity. George’s eyes shut as soon as his whole body is safe and touching the seat, but it takes him a while to fall asleep again. 

He does eventually drift into a half-asleep state, with Quackity’s feet on his lap, listening to his friends mumble in soft voices. At some point through the drive, Sapnap cracks his window open, just a little bit, to let the tender June air into the car. A song from the radio is playing slowly, quietly, from the sound system, a calming melody he doesn’t need to pay attention to. 

Sapnap drops him off at his apartment sometime before midnight. Karl and Quackity lumber in after him, supposedly too tired to sit in the car for the ten-minute drive back to their apartments. George doesn’t mind though, it’s nice to have company. 

Not wanting to leave Karl and Quackity alone, he forces them to help him pull the bed out from the couch, then promptly collapses onto it. Karl drapes a hand over George’s chest, and Quackity kicks at him until George shifts and lets him have more of their shared blanket. 

When he’s alone in his apartment, he’s often up late, wandering around his apartment in an attempt to tire himself out. He’s not an insomniac, but sometimes his brain refuses to just shut the fuck up. 

Today though, at the lake, in the car, and now, surrounded by his best friends, he has no trouble closing his eyes, rolling over, and forcing himself to sleep.

Comfort is a funny thing. It’s easier than he would’ve thought it would be to let people into his life, but Sapnap and Dream -  _ Dream -  _ make him feel at ease. 

Dream makes him feel at ease, with his stupid jokes and affectionate insults. The way he says ‘you’re an idiot’ with so much affection it’s all George can do to not melt on the spot. 

With a smile and a sense of ease, he turns his head onto Karl’s shoulder and falls asleep.

\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im on [tumblr!!!](https://itwasonlyakiss.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> shout at me on [tumblr](https://itwasonlyakiss.tumblr.com/) if ya want, i'm on there. leave a comment and a kudos i appreciate it!!! have a lovely day, i hope you enjoyed <3


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